Where I Lived, and What I Lived For

For me, the worst part about reading a good book late at night is that I have to go to sleep once I close it. I'm working on Thoreau's Walden, which never really appealed to me before but now has my mind going all over again.

I'm interested in his way of life at Walden Pond, and how he found all he needed in such isolation from other human beings. He is fascinated with what life has to teach him in its own way, through simplicity and the continnuum of days through seasons. Why can't I believe that he found everything he needed by living on the edge of a pond? I do understand the clarity he found through living so primitively and purely, and how he came to terms with his existence in this world. I agree that we become distracted with unneccessary things in our lives - that surely is undeniable.

But Thoreau was missing more in the woods, I think - perhaps it's my adventurous side talking, but there's more to nature itself even than the shore of Walden Pond. His intent was to live as naturally as possible, as close to his environment as possible, but humans are naturally social creatures. What about the human need to be with one another? He writes about how people read unneccessary news in the paper and send unneccessary letters in the mail - it's not about what you have to say, but just that you need to say it. I think that most people don't seem to really care about the stories in the newspaper - all they want to know is that there's a world out there full of people who are living their own lives. That's often all I want to know when I look at the paper: "What's going on in the world for everyone else today?"

Why does that matter? I suppose Thoreau would argue that it doesn't matter, because our existence is about being present in your own life. But I think there's more to my life than finding the sanctuary of a balanced life, as unbelievable as it seems - I want to know who and what I can be instead of what I already am. Again, Thoreau would probably tell me to wake up and live in there moment, because what I am is all I am. I don't think I'm ready to believe that yet. Maybe at some point I will, but I think I need to find a version of myself that I'm happy to be in the present moment.

I think Thoreau is completely right, which is what's confusing. I see no flaw in his writings, which makes it harder to disagree with them. Thoreau may be right, but there may be more than one version of the life he's trying to lead. Perhaps what he did was easy - go live in the woods for two years and self-definition's there somewhere. The hard part would be learning to live that way in society, to live in the middle of all the things that don't matter and to still see the morning fog and hear the voices we would otherwise mistake for bird calls.

Now that I got the real thinking out, I can go write a short paragraph and one question to prove that I read the book. Ironic...